Location: On the road to Monthaven
Timeline: Sixth Age, 52st Year, Spring
Oblivious to His Fate
Emcorae Azop rode straight toward his destiny, utterly unaware that the goddess who claimed his soul was trailing him like a common hedge-witch. The unsophisticated little fool was racing towards the mundane village of Monthaven, a place he hadn’t seen in six years. He never knew that Alyssa was watching his every move, still smarting from a fifty-year-old rejection, setting her final, pathetic trap.
For the past two weeks, Emcorae had continued to push himself and his Arbola-born philly, Joanne, hard, continuing to ride until well after the moon had climbed through the skies. The boy was determined to make it home on the morrow , clinging to the fast-paced, mile-churning canter.
Of course, he played the diligent master, knowing enough to periodically hop down and walk beside his mount, allowing her to trot at her own pace once in a while so that she would not be wasted or come up lame. Lucky for him, the intelligent elvish horse , did not let him down; even after all those days of non-stop running, she still seemed to be getting stronger with each passing mile.
In truth, the simpleton knew he would wear out long before his friend ever would. Even though his beast was doing all the hard work, the boy was tired from having to remain in the saddle for long stretches: quite frankly, his backside ached. He had ridden many miles upon her back in the past, but never from dusk till dawn for nearly two weeks. The horse, being an intelligent creature, found the whole thing quite amusing. Whenever Emcorae would complain aloud about the “soreness” of his backside, she sometimes couldn’t help herself from bouncing just a bit more than was probably necessary. A petty joke from a beast; entirely fitting for this pointless journey.
The Comfort of the Provincial
Eventually, even though the well-worn trail was growing darker by the hour, Emcorae began to recognize familiar surroundings. Miles behind, the woods had shifted from common birch and ash to the friendly maples and sturdy oaks of his not-too-distant youth. The lay of the land now opened onto the remembered landmarks he’d been waiting to see.
Although he had only seventeen summers under his belt and was alone but for his horse, these woods evoked no fear in his heart, for Emcorae Azop knew them well. Not even the pathetic, eerie hoot of a passing owl could dampen his spirits. When he last left this area, he’d been haunted by gargoyles and strange black mists. But this strapping young man no longer let those “childhood fears” hamper him; his time among the elves in Arbola Forest had supposedly cured him of those nighttime terrors.
When he and his horse neared the local landmark called Rock Run Emcorae judged that they were near enough to home to make camp for the night. After dismounting, he began to unload his saddlebags with the things he would need for the layover. He actually smiled, convinced that nature had been on his side. He and his mare had enjoyed a week and a half of beautiful temperatures and gentle springtime breezes without even a hint of the typical seasonal storms. The fool was completely unaware that this lack of weather was a calculated act of order set by the very goddess he was running toward.
But the nice weather alone was not what brought that pathetic grin to his face. Instead, because they had made such fast time in the past fortnight, he calculated that come morning, he could actually enjoy the luxury of sleeping late. Since his horse, Joanne, had acquired a taste for the plentiful thistles on this southeast side of Monthaven , Emcorae figured that his mount would be kept occupied for hours rooting them out. The simpleton was ecstatic that he could remain nestled in the blankets of his soon-to-be makeshift camp for as long as he desired. After nearly six years of waking at the crack of dawn to train under the watchful tutelage of his elvish master El-Janus, Emcorae’s body still rebelled at those too-soon awakenings.
He was home, back roaming the woods of his youth. And that meant he could sleep late if he wanted to —a luxury he desired very much. He figured he would wake about six hours after dawn, as the sun was reaching its zenith. And he said to himself, “If my reckoning is still correct, Jo and I will come riding up to the cottage at just about the time that Gram is gonna prepare dinner for everyone”.
His mind quickly turned from the simple pleasure of sleep to the simpler pleasure of gluttony. Since Emcorae knew he had always been his grandma’s favorite, and since he had been gone for so long, he had no doubt he would have his choice of whatever it was he wanted to eat. Without a moment’s hesitation, he planned his plea : he would relate to his grandma how much he had suffered by missing out on her wonderful cooking for so long, and then request his favorite dish—gnokkies. Naturally, being the kind-hearted old woman that she was, Emcorae knew this manipulative story would suffice, and he could feast on those warm, doughy delights until his heart’s content.
He anticipated the inevitable annoyance of his doting family crowding around him, begging for details of his time away, while little Chich yapped for attention. But Emcorae would simply insist they wait until he was finished eating. His stomach was already grumbling at the thought, but with a sigh, he regretted that vision as premature. He was not home yet, and thus he would have to eat yet another breakfast of elvish wayfares. “Blah!”. That flat, honey-coated travel nutbread was technically more than enough nourishment, but after a fortnight, he felt like he was about to go insane from eating it again.
With a half-hearted snicker, Emcorae told himself—only half-jokingly—that he could always join Joanne in her thistle search for an interesting change in taste. He looked over at his mount. She saw the sly smile on his face, and almost as if she knew what he was thinking, she “hmmfph’d” to herself and turned her back on the boy.
“Ha, Joanne you old coot!” Emcorae laughed. “I’ll bet you wouldn’t share any of your cherished weeds with me anyway.”
And so, Emcorae couldn’t have felt more content as he prepared for the night. He was back in the quiet woods of Monthaven, and on the morrow would be a joyous family reunion. What could go wrong?
The campsite he’d selected was in a small glade he remembered from his youth and when he arrived, he’d unsaddled Joanne and gave his beloved companion a rub down, silently thanking her for her hard work. He gently rubbed her white muzzle, and the horse practically purred with satisfaction. After tending to her tired muscles and rubbing out the inevitable knots, Emcorae gave the elvish creature the last of his sugar cubes. Unlike most human campers, Emcorae did not bother to hobble his horse. Joanne, being an elvish horse, had a certain calmness and loyalty about her, thus the boy gave her the freedom to roam during the night if she so pleased.
For her part, Joanne was usually content to sleep on her feet close to his camp. For although Emcorae seemed to believe that nothing in the world would want to harm them—this despite his extensive combat training in preparing to battle the evil plagues—she had enough sense in her elvish-horse bloodlines to know it was wise to keep a proper watch just to be safe.
At last, Emcorae made ready for bed himself. He removed his grandsire’s dagger and a bag of throwing stars, then took off his leather armor and greaves. Although he rode with these weapons and armor on by day, here at night, so close to his hometown, he didn’t feel the need for that extra protection. He then made a quick tent-like shelter using canvas and rope between two trees. After building a quick fire, he scarfed down a couple wayfares, and then rested with his back to a log.
Joanne was grateful that Emcorae was usually at least smart enough to keep his Azora’s sword by his side during the night, instead of leaving it sheathed and tied to the saddlebags. This night too he did not forget that small measure of self-defense, and so she did not have to remind him of it.
Soon Emcorae laid his head back to gaze up at the stars – and he wondered…
The Weakness of the Vessel
If you haven’t figured it out yet, Emcorae Azop was a creature of pathetic contradiction. Although I didn’t know the mortal from birth, apparently he had always been full of curiosity, a quality which his elders—El-Janus, Alboris, Beckali, and others—had consistently and futilely tried to cure him of. For the boy’s overly inquisitive nature, combined with a tendency to be a daring risk-taker, had indeed led him into minor trouble more than once. Yet, despite his daring to discover new conquests, this would-be warrior was still a virgin. [Thanks mainly to the work of Alyssa].
Emcorae had been born almost eighteen years ago, under the dominant, yet hostile star Red Regalis. Mortals might have said he’d developed into a ‘handsome’ young man, his face utterly dominated by his pathetic, expressive brown eyes—the “puppy-dog eyes” his mother, Beckali, had cautioned him about.
“And be careful who you flash those eyes on,” she used to joke, “because that poor girl will have no chance but to give you anything you desire.”
Yet those conversations had ended six years ago – when Emcorae was taken away to Arbola Forest – and his “puppy-dog eyes” had gone untested on even a single girl in all that time. Why? Not dedication, perhaps it was preoccupation – as he’d been solely contemplating focused on becoming a stronger, faster, and better fighter – conveniently avoiding the “awkward allure of a woman.” Yet, his eyes remained the telltale passageways to his heart. His inability to mask his emotions terrified his master, El-Janus, who rightly feared that without the ability to block out the world’s distractions, the boy could never concentrate truly on the Way of the Azora.
Looking at the stars, Emcorae now laughed cynically at these doubts. How can I ever hide who I am inside or what I am feeling? What will be left of ME if I do that?
His defiance was pathetic as he added: Go ahead, let them look into my eyes, let all the world see if they want to. I have nothing to hide and maybe they will see the true champion that I know I am!
A grand, delusional self-assessment if there ever was one, eh?
Physically, the young man was taut, lean, and well proportioned—the perfect specimen for Alyssa’s plan. Yet despite his thick, dark hair and prominent jaw, he had yet to notice any growth on his cheeks or upper lip and he worried that his father might still look upon him as a boy – in spite of all the feats he’d accomplished in his training.
Reaching to this side, he picked up his Azora’s sword. The weapon was a katana—one of those legendary blades reputedly stronger than any other fashioned by mortal hands. He remembered the elaborate process: the mixing of hard and soft steels, the repeated heating and beating, the covering in clay and ashes, and the final quenching. The result was a weapon two-and-a-half feet long, resilient, with a razor edge that could split plate armor and was effective against the tightest mail.
He repeated the elvish blacksmith’s secret aloud: “Heat it until the steel has the color of the moon in the water…”
The blade shimmered with the appearance of a moving blue mist, a cluster of stars shrouded by a cloudy sky. He was amazed once more at its difference from common swords. Yet, the honor of carrying a katana as a mere Pupil—a privilege usually reserved for Cavaliers and above—was unprecedented for a human.
He shrugged off the riddle with a chuckle: “Of course, the thought of a man ever being an Azora is also unheard of, so I guess it all balances out!”
Eventually, he let his mind turn to the more pressing issues that plagued him, Alas, these great gods of the world, what do they have planned for me? Why was I the first man ever chosen to become an Azora? Can I really do it?
The self-pity was a nauseating performance. He had trained to fight my creatures even though he had still never seen any of them —Morati, Pyrhalli, Boogiti—and now questioned his own readiness?
But twenty more years just to even become a Novitiate! That’s a lifetime! Is that what I really want out of life? Isn’t there anything else?
Time passed, and with these same tiresome questions circling his mind, Emcorae fell asleep with his back to that hard log. His comfortable and warm blankets remained unused under the tent.
Nearby Joanne snorted her horsy laugh and closed her eyes too. The creature knew her companion would not be as comfortable as he could be, but she judged that there was no real danger for him to remain where he was. Besides, she knew this discomfort would prevent him from sleeping late, which meant less time wasted for her to fatten herself on thistles.
Emcorae, for his part, went from snoring to drooling, his innocent dreams clouding out the fact that he really had no idea that Alyssa was about to weave her magic over him…
The Apocrypha of Azazel 